


She Told Me You Love Me

by piginapoketuesday



Series: La Mia Vita Con Te (a Hannigram series) [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannigram - Freeform, Hurt Will, Hurt/Comfort, In Character, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Savior Hannibal, TW: Blood, The Fall - Freeform, Will pushed them on purpose, canon-typical manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piginapoketuesday/pseuds/piginapoketuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The immediate aftermath of the fall. What happens when Will's guilt and love don't drown?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the tumble of bloody clothing, hands, mouths, and rock that was their Reichenbach and everything that followed, Will whispered into a cascading ear. "She told me you love me."

And that was to be his final word. When they hit the water, bodies tangled, dying the waves black in the moonlight, Will offered his chest to the impact and begged it to silence his heart. As for Hannibal, Will hoped a jagged rock would slice his love's throat. It was only fair that he feel what Abigail felt.

Instead, the sharp bluff slit Will from wrist to elbow and scarred his feet and chest. Hannibal's collar snagged, and he was jostled about in the teeming water, gasping and clawing his shirt, his back torn a hundred ways by the ceaseless edges.

When Hannibal freed himself, he caught Will limp and bleeding in the waves, his bared neck caressed by the frothing sea. Pulling the younger man into him, he lurched for the shore.

Once on the sand, the water still crashed down over them, violating their wounds. Will was shaking and unconscious.

"Will," Hannibal implored, breathless. "Will." He tilted the stubbled chin, opened the lips, and pressed his mouth to his lover's, breathing for him.

Will coughed and gasped, rolling to his side. Hannibal wiped his mouth and looked at the gash on his patient's arm, the dark holes in his white shirt, his slick and dripping feet. He leaned over Will and pulled his arms against the unwounded space on his chest, trying to slow his heartbeat.

Will's eyelashes leaked drops of salt onto his cheeks. His throat felt raw, and his every nerve was alight with pain. But he heard the faltering, heavy voice that trembled against his temple.

"The night isn't over, Will. Stay alive. Stay with me."

His stomach turned. The demon at his back had saved his life. And how many more people would die because of it? Even so, the careful pressure against his chest, and even the mere presence of Hannibal Lecter calmed his heart. Perhaps a throat slitting was in store for the doctor, or for himself, but not tonight. Tonight there were waves and dragon's blood and the shivering stillness of any moment with this man.

Will coughed again, violently, but Hannibal never loosened his grip. 

"Where else would I go."


	2. Chapter 2

“Will, stay awake. Stay with me.”

The younger man’s eyes were glassy, eyelids drooping dangerously as he faded. His hair was dripping; sweat having replaced water since he was dragged out of the sea.

Hannibal could see right through the slit in Will’s cheek to his blood stained teeth, and there was a dark bruise forming on his neck. He worked as quickly as he could, cleaning Will’s wounds and neglecting his own. He could feel the bullet in his side digging deeper each time he moved, and he was dreading looking at his back. His sweater had all but fallen off, shredded and held together only by dried streams of blood. With his hands moving deftly over Will’s body, Hannibal licked dragon blood from his teeth and tried to breath evenly to slow his racing heart.

It wasn’t working, and he couldn’t risk passing out. Will would die within the hour without immediate care. He dragged the near-unconscious profiler to the couch, and then went to search his closet for a syringe of adenosine. Dizzy, he stabbed the needle through his chest wall and pushed the plunger.

Ripping the needle out, Hannibal felt his heart slow and collapsed, exhausted, on his side. He massaged his carotid, taking deep breaths despite the pain ripping through his entire upper body. _Stand up._ He staggered to his feet and steadied himself on the edge of the couch, tossing the syringe into the trash across the room.

“Will,” he gripped the wounded man’s hair and pulled his head back.

Will Graham only moaned, blood dripping from his mouth.

Hannibal snarled, his eyes foggy with pain. He slapped Will as hard as he could manage across his unwounded cheek. “Wake up,” he spat, “Wake up. You don’t die tonight.”

With a desperate groan, Will opened his eyes. “St-stop.” Blood gushed freely from his lips.

“Stay awake, or I will bite,” he warned, panting, “You don’t want me to bite.”

“L—me die.” Will swallowed.

“Enough, Will. Keep your eyes open. This is going to hurt.” He took an open bottle of whiskey from his pile of supplies, then he grabbed Will’s chin and forced him to face away. He poured the whiskey directly into his wound.

Will shrieked, wrenching out of Hannibal’s grip.

Hannibal cradled the side of Will’s neck and whispered against his quivering chin. “Hush, stay with me.”

“ _Please_ ,” Will whispered.

“I’m going to sew up your cheek. Just a few sutures to hold until we’re somewhere they’ll never find us.”

Will gripped the tattered collar of Hannibal’s shirt. “N-no. Don’t—”

Hannibal bit the inside of his mouth, pupils fully dilated. He took hold of Will’s curls again and bent to level his lips at Will’s ear. “Suicide is the enemy,” he said, and it came out as a sneer.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re dying, Hannibal.”

Hannibal glanced at his partner from the front seat of their stolen car, doing 100 in a 35. The back road they were traveling was full of farmland and empty fields, but it was late enough to be early, and the sun would be rising soon. “That’s what you wanted, Will,” he said, “Deny me my life, and all that.”

“Not alone,” Will said slowly. The bloody gauze that hid a row of clean sutures obscured half his face. Both of their ears were still ringing with Will’s screams.

Grunting, Hannibal set his teeth. “I suppose you hate me for saving your life just as fervently as you hate me for opening your skull.” He glanced again, pointedly, at Will’s abdomen. “And your belly.”

Will smirked humorlessly. “The smile you left? Hate is a strong word. It was our first honest touch.”

“First?” Hannibal lifted his chin, and the moon cast a glow over his Adam’s apple. “You beat me to that.”

“Mason’s knife was hardly intimate, though I suppose I hadn’t quite gotten a taste for intimacy by that point.” Will swallowed, tasting blood and resolving to keep the rest of his speech short and to the point.

The older man licked his lips. “On the subject of taste and intimacy.”

“Are you angling for a kiss, Dr. Lecter?” Will sounded on the verge of laughter, as if the concept was so ludicrous that saying it out loud was, in itself, a joke.

Hannibal caught the sarcasm in his tone and decided the young professor needed a bit of a shock. “I was thinking quite a bit lower than your mouth, though I’d certainly welcome the former.”

Will blanched. “You can’t be serious.”

“Don’t worry, Will. I like my meat cooked before I introduce it to my teeth.” He smirked despite himself.

He felt a twinge below the belt. “I’m not—”

“When you are near me, do you want to touch me?”

Will was silent for a moment. “I—”

“Separate the warm thickness and anxious flutter of love from its label. Do you not feel that for me?”

“That ‘anxious flutter’ is revulsion, not—”

“Will,” Hannibal interrupted, his voice still powerful in its strain, “I did not kill The Great Red Dragon alone. He attacked me. You retaliated.”

He was quiet for a long time. After a while, he said, “Loving you is unthinkable. Impossible and dangerous and blind.” His cheeks felt wet with something other than blood.

“And yet,” Hannibal said, “You ache for me.”

Will sighed heavily, tears spilling into his gauze. “Yes.”


	4. Chapter 4

They made it to Hannibal's cabin as the sun came up and ducked out of the car. Once inside, Hannibal lit over a hundred candles strewn about the living room. It was sparsely furnished, but the coffee table was stacked with medical supplies.

Hannibal sighed, well aware of how difficult the day would be. "Go rest in the bedroom, Will."

"If I do that, who is going to clean the lacerations on your back?"

Hannibal turned to him. "It was your intention I not survive the fall. Why would you want me strong again?"

Will looked very ragged. "I don't know. Let me see. Turn."

Hannibal obeyed, showing his back to his partner. It was caked with blood, and his torn shirt seemed buried in the wounds. Most of the abrasions were dirty, full of sweat and grime from the sea.

"On the bright side," Will began, "I have the delight of knowing how you'd look after the lash."

"Fantasizing about simpler times, Will?"

He led Hannibal to the couch and sat down next to him. "Fantasizing about you in pain. Though I won't need to for long. This will hurt, Hannibal."

"I have an excellent pain tolerance."

Will believed him, but then again, the older man had yet to see the extent of the damage. "I need a cloth and bucket. Does this place have running water?"

"Yes, I paid two decades in advance, under a false name. What you need is in the kitchen."

He left to find the supplies and returned with a bucket of soapy water and one of just water.

"Remove the remains of my shirt first. It will only get in the way if you leave it."

Will put his hand on Hannibal's arm. "I've patched up my dogs dozens of times. I don't have a surgeon's hands, but they are steady enough to fly fish, sail a ship, and fix a motor."

"You would have made a fine surgeon, Will."

Unsure how to respond to the compliment, Will began stripping the fabric from Hannibal's back.

It was slow work, peeling and daubing at fresh blood with gauze, then peeling again. Hannibal never made a sound, but his hands curled tightly over the edge of the couch.

"We can take a break if this is too much," Will said when the last piece of shirt was removed.

Breathing heavily, Hannibal answered. "Thank you."

Will noticed a tremble in the older man's shoulders and regretted his sentiment about whipping. "Hannibal, what can I do?"

"It was instilled in me from a young age to never show weakness."

He considered for a moment what might give the dark creature before him some relief. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the back of Hannibal's neck, just beneath his hairline.

Hannibal closed his eyes, savoring the tenderness. "I assure you, Will, the Florence Nightingale effect is short lived."

"Is that what this is?" Will asked cheekily, kissing again, lower.

Swallowing, Hannibal dropped his head and let Will explore. "I certainly hope not."


End file.
